Ocean Eyes
by DandelionsAndDaydreams
Summary: "Heartbreak wraps its cold, meaty hands around Percy's throat, making it unable to breathe steadily. Immense guilt wells up inside his chest like an active volcano on the brink of explosion." Annabeth dies in the Giant war. How will Percy cope? Percabeth and unmerciful angst galore. Warning: Character Death and attempted suicide. One-shot.


**A/N: Hi everybody! So, I just read **_enamel-hearts _**'s "Windows like Cemeteries" and now that my mouth is NOT hanging open from the sheer heart-wrenching beauty of it, I got inspired. If you haven't already, I highly suggest you go read it. Like, right now. And review. It might've been the best one-shot I've ever read. So, this chapter is dedicated to her.**

**Also, I have two asterisks (it's these thingies= *) in the story, and they're there because I think I got those lines from somewhere else. If you know where I got it from (I'm not sure if I came up with them on my own or if I read them somewhere and forgot about it) then please tell me. If I got it from you, I will remove it if you want me to.**

_**Please Review! CC and Flames are accepted!**_

* * *

"_To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."— J.K. Rowling_

* * *

Be silent now, the show's about to begin.

When the scene crackles to life before us, we will see an innocent golden-encased girl lying broken in a field where hopes are crushed into the grass like a flower you might accidentally step on. If we zoom out, we will be rewarded with the sight of a shattered young man desperately pressing his tattered shirt against her red skin. Sorrow in the form of tears escapes his sea-green eyes; landing heavily on the gray-eyed girl's paling skin. Promises unable to be kept slip through his chattering teeth and slide unconvincingly into the girl's heart. She will treasure them forever. His stomach pulls as he realizes he might still be too far away from the end of the tunnel to escape the train that has been chasing him for years.

The girl knows one of these short, greedy gasps she now calls breathing will be her last very soon. So she takes the boy's callused, blood-stained hands and holds them. The raven-haired boy looks deeply into the girl's fading irises and kisses her with everything thing he has. Twin tears leak out of her eyes, but she understands.*

Then the ever-dreaded presence of death arrives, sweeping in like a whisper. Slow and silent he snatches her still warm soul and cradles it like a newborn child. The boy thinks he could've saved her, that the Fates were kind enough to give him the one thing he ignored—a choice. But, the boy is wrong. He couldn't have saved her no matter how hard he tried. The young girl's death was engraved so deeply in the unforgiving stone of life not even the longest time could've eroded it completely. And now the ocean is pouring out of the boy's eyes. He removes his split, bleeding lips from her cold, dead ones, but still holds her hands as if she is sleeping. He tries to pretend that she is, but the warm crimson river he's bathing in tells a different story.

Hesitantly, a boy with hair the color of daffodils and eyes like sapphires will place his hands on the weeping boy's bare shoulder. Slowly, like water trickling out of a faucet a small hand forgot to turn off all the way, four other bodies will crowd the heartbroken boy. Apologies and meaningless comforts roll off their tongues, but none have the slightest effect on Percy Jackson. For his best friend, his lover, his tie to the world, Annabeth Chase, has just died in his arms.

Percy's throat burns with rage and loss and hopelessness. He doesn't know what to feel. The girl's spilled blood is thinner now, for salty tears have mixed in with it. The boy with daffodil colored hair and sapphire eyes gently nudges Percy; silently telling him there was still a war to be won. But Percy can't take his eyes off of his girlfriend's dead body. It hits him how young and… _peaceful _she looks, almost as if she's happy to be gone, to be finally _free_.

For a second, Percy thinks that girl, lying so cracked and scarred and _lifeless_ in his arms can't possibly be his beautiful, spirited Wise Girl. But, I'm sorry to say, Percy had been so grief-stricken that his mind began to play ticks on him, searching every corner of the universe for a happy ending; an ending that would allow Percy to smile again.

Right about now, I imagine, will be a close-up on the young girl's face. If you look closely, you will see Mr. Jackson's hand come into the picture and lightly brush Annabeth's eyes closed. For he simply couldn't bear the absent look in her eyes any longer. It made it harder to pretend this wasn't really happening.

His mouth tastes metallic. It feels like a thousand voices are simultaneously verbalizing the language of silence to Percy. The smell of misery hangs pungently in the blood-stained air. Heartbreak is wrapping its cold, meaty hands around Percy's throat, making it unable to breathe steadily. Immense guilt wells up inside his chest like a volcano on the brink of explosion.

The sapphire eyed boy throws Percy on his feet and scolds him for how childish he's being. He rants about how Annabeth is gone and there was nothing they could do anymore. Curses and threats embed themselves in the venom he's spewing.

Jason walks away with a broken nose.

All too suddenly, Percy feels his skin being torn open from behind. A rueful monster swings his mucronate claws in the air, strips of Percy's and Annabeth's flesh streaming from them like ribbons. Blood pours from Percy's deep back wound like a waterfall. Riptide finds its way into his hand, though, and glistens in the sunlight. Hot tears and red inkblots flaw his vision. _This was the thing that killed my Annabeth,_ he thinks. He charges out of pure hatred.

But the monster is too quick as it aims its paw at Percy's head. A warm red liquid oozes from his temple at contact. Scarlet acrylics paint his mouth and the taste of pennies spreads across his tongue. Percy barely has time to register the moaning sounds emanating from his girlfriend before blackness washes over him like he's being pulled down in a strong under-tow. He welcomes unconsciousness with open arms, relief sprinkling his body like a hot shower.

I believe it's about time for an intermission.

* * *

The confused, distressed, green-eyed lover swims in blissful memories. Clips of him and the golden-encased girl play themselves out in his mind. He recalls the time when they saw each other for the first time in eight months. Percy swears he can still feel her soft, warm hand in his. Fragments containing gray hurricanes and heartfelt hugs float across the surface. Her laughter is the soundtrack of his memories.

"Percy," the name skips across his oasis like a stone, sending ripples everywhere and disrupting the serenity.

"Percy." It repeats

"Annabeth," Percy mumbles, "Not now."

A stifled cry echoes in the distance.

"No, Percy, it's Piper. Please wake up. _Please_," she begs.

He opens his eyes and immediately wishes he hadn't. He's looking into the face of a girl of complete purity. He wonders why Annabeth isn't there, when the memory comes pack to him like an iron rod to his chest. It hits him with a force similar to one of a two-ton truck. Empty tears leak from the corner of his eyes and frame his cheeks.

"Is she—" he whispers, unable to finish.

Piper nods. "She… she came back to us for a while. She—" sobs possessed her body, causing the fragile girl to double-over as if she had been punched.

"She was asking for you," Piper chokes out.

And just like that, Percy can't take it anymore. He drags his bloodied knees up to his still-bare chest and sobs until the ocean within his eyes is dry. Now that the soothing, protective layers of water have evaporated, everyone can see just how scarred and damaged the young boy really is. Percy sits in a cold, numb reality until sleep claims his tired body once more. You must remember though, tears do not symbolize loss in anyway. They just often accompany it.

I suppose now you'll hear a slow, tragic song play itself out in the background, outlining the moment in 1,000 shades of pain. But pain is to humans as oxygen is to fire; dangerous when overused but undeniably necessary. And Percy's just been hit by a tornado.

* * *

Bandages encase our young hero, hugging his arms and head and torso. It's been three days since she's left him to fend for himself, and he's not sure how much more he can take. How do you expect someone to live when their better half is ripped from them?

Percy Jackson hasn't eaten, slept, or showered since then, and his friends are becoming quickly worried. He just sits next to a large window under numerous blankets, curled up and crying. Jason claimed he was just being a wimp that if he wanted to save her he could've, earning himself quite a few new bruises via Piper. Hazel says he's gone into depression without her.

Percy wonders who's right.

I'm sorry, but the show does not provide information on the next few days because everything simply repeats itself. Once or twice Hazel managed to get Percy to eat something, and once he actually fell asleep. He woke up three hours later, screams and discontinued promises flowing out of his mouth like blood from an open wound.

Frank tried IM'ing Sally back in New York, but she was just as stumped as they were. She had an overwhelming supply of sympathy when she saw her son. She kept telling him it was going to be alright, and for him to please eat something. When Sally said Annabeth wouldn't want to see him like that, he started crying again so she left him alone.

Who knew ocean-eyes could hold so many tears?

* * *

Her body is wrapped in a thin, gray veil that's adorned with an owl. She looks oddly beautiful from inside her casket. Sadistic, I know, albeit she was beautiful. Little did they know a black-haired boy's heart was screaming in protest. People are crying and embracing and even though it's probably the best burial the camp's seen in years, it's nowhere near a happy sight.

The day melts into the past like butter. Percy recalls having to give a speech, but he barely remembers what he said. Everything was passing by as if he was driving 100 miles an hour in slow motion.

That night, when Percy is screaming and flailing in his sleep, the rest of the camp pretends not to hear it. They ignore the pitiful moans and cry's drenched in heartbreak sounding from the Poseidon cabin that night and every other night.

When Percy wakes up he's drenched in a cold sweat and he's shaking violently. It's closer to dawn then night so he decides to head for the showers. He peels himself out of bed and unsteadily makes his way across camp, drunk on desperation.

The sky is sherbet-tinted as the sun rises. Percy can't help but hate it. He feels as if its beauty is a sick reminder that the one thing he's ever truly loved with every fiber of his being had been stripped away like a Band-Aid. Okay, maybe not the best simile for this situation, but it will have to do.

When he turns on the water it's freezing but he doesn't notice. He does manage to scrub away some of the sadness that resided in his pores from when she died, though. But not enough to reclaim any of his sanity back.

By the time Percy steps out of the showers Camp Half-Blood is awake. Water drips off his scarred, exposed form. For the remained of the day he roams aimless around, nauseated by the normality of it all. He has to restrain himself from gutting every smiling face that walks by. How could anyone be laughing in a world where _she's_ gone?

He remains at Camp Half-Blood for one more week before he realizes he can't do it. He's just been going through the motions, entering and exiting the scenes and messing up his lines. Everyone was relishing in the fact that the war was finally over, but no one realized one camper was slowly going insane. Yes, Percy Jackson was losing it, his soul withering like cardboard in the rain.

The camp reeked of her. Everything had her movements written in it, every blade of untrimmed grass whispering her name in the breeze. It taunts Percy heartlessly. It has been a while since he's felt the overwhelming affects of guilt, but they were back. No matter how many times everyone tells him he couldn't have saved her—that he was too far away to block the monster's attack and he was too busy defending himself to even notice it—he couldn't bring himself to believe them.

Four words stream across his mind like a teleprompter. Four words with a record stained enough to rival any killer's. Five syllables of guilt strong enough to drive any man to the point of a gun against their temple or a rope around their neck. Four simple words keep playing in Percy's head like a broken record, never ceasing.

_It should've been me._

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is what you might call _insanity.**_

* * *

It's been one month since Annabeth died, and Percy's on the verge of breaking. Glass is sturdier than him right now. He knows all the way down to his bones that he can't keep living like this. That is, if you can call the daily ritual of holding back tears until the sky gives way to an inky black a life.

Percy asks Chiron if he can use the phone. Chiron replies with a freshly baked "of course," seasoned with pity. Percy stumbles into the Big House, trying to ignore the urge to succumb to a wave of remorseful memories. He finally reaches the phone. His fingers are shaking so badly he can barely dial the seven digit number he's know his whole life. It only rings once.

"Mom?" his voice comes out weak and raspy from all the screaming and weeping last night brought.

"Percy! Baby, is everything all right?" His mother's voice floats out of the earpiece and embeds itself in his heart. Her voice is the color of children's laughter and fresh apple pies.

Silence cuts through the phone like a scalpel and seconds the length of days tick by. Finally, realizing that her son is beyond finding a civil response to "is everything alright?" speaks for him.

"I'm coming to get you," she says, determination replacing her words.

Percy doesn't hang up the phone until Chiron comes back in.

* * *

We return to our little hero as he sits in car cushioned with sympathy, staring out the window. Sally Jackson is chatting about unimportant tidbits and is fussing over Percy, but he doesn't notice. He's transfixed on the crying sky outside the passenger seat's window. Raindrops streak the glass, chasing each other till they disappear from Percy's view. He traces the shaky outline of the raindrops as they gradually make their way across the window.

Before he knows it, his mom is shaking his shoulder, telling him "we're here". He wipes the sweat off of his hands and gets out of the car. The air is cold and harsh and it burns to breathe. Percy faces the tall brick building he hasn't been in for countless days. Slowly, Percy walks across the parking lot, his steps matching his pulse.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

A bell rings overhead as Percy opens the door for his mother. A too-warm gush of air hits his face, tainted with cookies and the color of Christmas. Sally rushes inside, glad to be out of Jack Frost's reach. She mumbles something to the receptionist who throws Percy a teary smile. He doesn't even address it and heads right for the elevator.

"I'm sorry. He's just upset," his mother apologizes before catching up to him.

When the reflective doors close, Sally turns to him.

"What was that about?" she demands.

"I don't want her pity," Percy croaked.

"She's trying to show some sympathy, Percy. I know this is really hard for you right now, but we all miss her. I know not as much as you, but I want you to know we're here for you. Everyone is," Sally found Percy's hand and squeezed it.

It's a strange thing, how a mother's love can be so effective. Better than any medical concoction, really. Even at the wise old age of eighteen, right then Percy found it unable to reject his mother's apologizes. As you will see in this next scene, he didn't even flinch when she hugged him tight.

The doors slid open with a small _ding._ Percy's shoe is met by plush carpet. A Christmas Carole sings softly in the background. Old orange wallpaper covers the walls, accented by wooden picture frames filled with unknown smiling faces. He strolls up to his parent's apartment, memorizing every detail of the brightly lit hallway.

Mrs. Jackson takes out her keys and the jingle in tune with the song. She fits the right one into the lock and it turns with a satisfying _click._ Sally grasps the cold metal handle and pushes the door open.

An inky blackness paints the room. Shadows of a happier family are still etched in the walls, on the furniture, everywhere. Percy switches on the light and has to blink a few times before his eyes adjust to the light. He doesn't even bother to kick off his shoes when he walks in.

He runs his calloused fingers over the blue sofa, across the coffee table, along the lampshade. He touches everything as if to assure himself that it's still real. His lungs contract when he notices the tinsel-covered tree stuffed in a corner. A small black box still lay underneath it, never to be opened. The ring will never feel skin and the diamond will never shine. Sally trails behind him, unsure of what to say next. Her heart shatters when she notices the wet spots on the lampshade.

"Percy, honey, do you want something to eat?" Sally asks. Percy shakes his head.

"Percy, you have to eat something," she insists, silently gesturing to his weight loss problem. He sighs heavily but gives in. A few minutes later Percy's sitting on his bed, slowly chewing a grilled-cheese. It's really hot, too hot to eat, but Percy doesn't care. He doesn't really _feel_ anything now that she's gone. So he lets the melted bread burn his esophagus.

When the last piece rests in his stomach Percy peels off his clothes and dresses in a simple white tee-shirt and gray sweats. Hot butterflies invade his stomach when he sees a picture of her underneath his pants. He slams the draw shut but her beautiful, smiling face still lingers in his vision. Percy climbs into bed without a goodnight to the woman who was stayed so strong for him for so long. Little did he know she was weeping into tearstained pillows at that very moment, mourning the loss of her son's only true love.

Percy's grateful for the stiff coolness of the sheets. He stares unfocused at the wall above him, adorned with memories of happier times. Percy presses his eyes shut, tears lining his bottom lashes. He can't bear to see the pictures but he doesn't have the guts to take them down. They will stay there forever as a painful reminder to what could've been.

Percy wakes up to sweat-soaked sheets and still-fresh cries bouncing off the walls. He's panting and his hair is matted down to his forehead. Beads of perspiration dot his neck as he tries to forget the 69th (because yes, he has been keeping track, what did you expect?) time he's relived the death of his girlfriend. Sally's and Paul's worried whispers leak through the walls and into Percy's ears. He will try his best to ignore them.

Untangling himself from the sticky sheets he cocooned himself in, Percy set his feet down on the floor. He jerked them back in surprise—there was glass woven into the carpet. Carefully be bent down and scooped up all the shards he could find.

His hand brushed against something paper-like. Percy picked it up and squinted. It was a recent picture of Annabeth, her face possessing a ghost-like quality from the moonlight pouring in his room. The pad of his thumb gently strokes the picture-Annabeth's cheek, wanting more than anything for it to be real. He thinks he can almost feel her soft, warm skin.

Suddenly, rage is injected into Percy's veins and he's not sure why. For anger is a many-layered subject. All he knows is he's mad. Really mad. He rips the photo in two and nearly laughs at the satisfying ripping sound. His pillow smashes against the wall, and somehow it's louder than a million voices to Percy. He sinks to his knees, hot tears clouding his vision.

Insecurities and accusations overtake his mind. He's only aware of the fact the she's _gone_ and she's not coming back and it just hurts so freaking _bad_ and all he wants is for it to stop. And just like that, as if someone had whispered the answer into his ear, he knew how.

His hands locate a large shard of glass and he grips it tightly as if he were sinking and that was his life vest. He drops to his hands and knees and begins the slow and tedious journey of crawling across his room and to his balcony. He doesn't even wince when the glass pierces his skin.

Percy stretches out one clammy hand and grasps the doorknob so tight he's afraid it might break off. He lethargically stands up, shaking and perspiring. The doorknob turns too slowly. When the door opens he walks outside, grateful to be out of reach of those smiling eyes. The glass feels chilled and foreign against his palm.

Below, the city is bursting with life. Neon signs flash cheap advertisements, fights are breaking out in the crevices of the city's shadow and taxi's horns blare. The air is littered with thousands of conversations and even this high up Percy can hear it all. He breaths deeply, savoring the almost tangible flavor of Manhattan. And all of a sudden Percy's world becomes a little less gray— he's home.

As you can probably tell, Percy's rethinking his decision. Sure, his life may never be as happy as it once was, but Annabeth will always live bold, strong and 18 in his memories. She will shine forever as a frozen sun—perfectly bittersweet. Watch as his hand nearly drops the lethal make-shift weapon. But alas, his mind is too far gone to go back on itself.

Percy regains his grip and fumbles with the back of his shirt. He lifts the fabric up to reveal tanned skin. The piece of glass is positioned right above his Achilles heel now. Even though he lost it a while ago, it was still sensitive, and probably had the power to kill him. It was more of a symbol of defeat, though. Percy presses it in harder and is a millisecond away from drawing blood when he hears footsteps.

"Do you really want to do that?" Paul asks, folding his arms across his chest. Percy doesn't answer.

"That's what I though."

"Why are you out here?" Percy demands, regaining his composure.

"Why are you?" Paul counters. He sighs.

"Look, Percy… I know you miss Annabeth. Like, more than I could ever imagine. I know you loved her and that you still love her. But honestly, if she _were_ here right now, would she want you to do this?"

"If Annabeth were here, I wouldn't even be doing this."

"True, true. But think about what she'd say when you'd see her in Elysium—because yes, we all know you're both going there. And not only that, but what about your mom? Or me, or Grover, or Chiron, or Will, or Leo, or Piper, or Frank, or—" Percy cut him off.

"I get it," Percy breathed, finally dropping his weapon. The glass crashed to the ground with a nauseating _clatter._

Percy turned around and faced Paul. He had tears outlining his eyes, only kept in by a cage of black lashes. Percy mouthed two words that sent cracks down his heart.

"I'm sorry," Percy mumbled before collapsing into him.

* * *

This, my dearest friend, is where we will leave Percy Jackson. I can't tell you much more, but I do know that he eventually smiled again. Eventually, Percy found a way to let a little light back into his world, even if it wasn't as bright. Rumor has it he got married to a sweet daughter of Apollo and even had a daughter. Supposedly he named her Anna. But, these may just be fables told at the crest of dusk on stormy nights.

Exactly 40 years after the day of Annabeth's death there was an obituary in the newspaper telling the story of how he died from a heart-attack at 58. It's such a young age, but so old compared to his lover's. I am told that he did in fact make it to Elysium and Annabeth was waiting there with open arms saying,

"What took you so long, Seaweedbrain?"

_Fin._


End file.
